Tools of War: Pendulum Wars Short Story
by AdamFenix
Summary: A different perspective on the Pendulum Wars...
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

"_What does it take to be a good Manufacturer in times of war? It means going above and beyond what the other competitors are willing to do in desperate times. It also means that you have eliminated the competition by any means necessary, where you're willing to bloody your own hands in order to gain victory. I am willing to do just that."_

(Dr. Erin Marshal Lancer, Founder of Lancer-Kedar Heavy Industries.)

**Classified Lancer-Kedar Production Facility, East Tyrus (32 B.E.)**

The monotonous sound of heavy industry roared to life through halls of the factory, sounds of clanking metal and an orchestra of weapon-producing machinery could be heard.

The entire building was alive and bustling with all kinds of automated mechanisms used to develop much needed weapons for the ongoing war. The main items of production on the line were various forms of newly developed assault rifles, the presence of which made the former weapons in the Coalition's arsenal look obsolete.

The entrepreneur of the establishment had invested a great deal of both time and money upon developing the much needed weapon that would later become the workhorse weapon for the Coalition of Ordered Governments.

Dozens of foundries heated various types of earth-born metals to thousands of degrees in order to bring the metal to a proper melting point. Once such an important goal had been completed, the metal was then poured into molds which would later become assault rifles, tools with the intent to be supplied to able-bodied soldiers who would be driven to the front lines in this new era of industrial revolution.

This process of weapon making had not occurred on such a high level of productivity in the past, where rifles of the prior age were mostly assembled by hand. The Seran Golden Age had pushed the nation of Tyrus into a new age and transformed the art of creating war materials into a highly practical and efficient process. When compared to lesser nations within the Coalition of Order Governments and even nations within that of the Union of Independent Republics.

Lancer-Kedar Heavy industries was founded upon one of the biggest corporate groups within all of Tyrus that had bought its way into power through controlling a monopoly of mining and smelting companies. Who later waved the banner of the company after corporate buy-outs and black-listing by the company owner, Erin Marshal Lancer.

The man was a highly resourceful individual who had ties to a wealthy and prosperous family that had many political ties to a higher level in the government, thus affirming his seat of power in the industry.

His main challenges of winning weapon contracts with the government were the many other competing weapons' developers in the nation who would also be paid handsomely for their efforts in creating small arms to be supplied to all the nations that consisted within the COG. Where ever there was conflict on the world of Sera, there was an equal amount of profit to be made for companies to supply soldiers with the tools of war.

**Office of Erin Marshal Lancer, overlooking the Lancer-Kedar Production Facility**

Erin Lancer's jaw was long and bony; his chin jutted outwards, the more flexible notch formed his mouth and extended outwards, towards his cheeks. Erin's nostrils arched and curved back into a series of wrinkles that showed the age of the man. His eyes were a deep hue of green, silent and calculating-the eyes of a man with ambition for the future and whatever it might hold. His brunette hair grew upwards-from high flat temple-to form a neat point on his forehead, the sides of his head were covered in straight graying hair, which added to his eagle-like profile.

A warm cup of coffee waited on his lavish oak desk, patiently waiting for the man to return to the steaming brew. The piece of furniture was cluttered with assorted papers ranging from government contracts to latest statistics of workers going on strike against supporting a war fought over Imulsion.

Erin's thoughts were quickly disrupted by one of his secretaries who came to bring the latest news from the production lines.

"Uhnd, Dr. Lancer, Sir" announced the secretary.

"What is it, Solovyov?" asked Erin.

"Zah production lines 'ave reported a fifty percent loss 'ue to the recent strikes" he replied.

"Is that so?" Erin retorted, giving a sinister sneer.

"Vat vould you advise doing in order to quell the wor-"

"Fire five hundred workers in each factory" interrupted Erin, silencing the man before him.

Solovyov quickly gave a simple nod of his head and slipped through the pain-glass door he originated from moments before.

"Those damned Sarfuthians, can't trust the bastards." The prosperous man announced to himself when recalling the visitor in his office. He quickly returned to his thoughts on how to manage the facility with fewer workers. He concluded to himself that reducing the pay of the remaining workers and evicting their families from their homes would be best suited to quell the worker insurrection.

**Oakwood Alienage District, Tyrus**

The Oakwood Alienage district was a segregated part of a typical ghetto in Eastern Tyrus, many of its inhabitants hailed from Sarfuth and applied for citizenship only to be reduced to living in shacked huts which littered the cobblestone street sides.

The current lay off of many workers who commuted to the Lancer-Kedar Heavy Industries Facility resulted in derelicts who wandered the streets looking for anything that could be scavenged or used for a common household. Muggings and murders rose to an all time high for the people in this impoverished neighborhood.

Police raids from local precincts were quite frequent when combating the amount of prostitution, drug-trafficking, and frequent youth-gangs who owned most of the streets in the Oakwood Alienage.  
The life expectancy for individuals living in this quarter was not usually more than a month or so, leaving empty homes for more Sarfuthian refugees to take refuge when running across the border into Tyrus.

It was a difficult choice to choose between a war-torn country where every-day life was a constant battle against the UIR forces who committed themselves robbing villages of their wealth and raping every woman in sight.

"Vhy don't Sarfuthian refugees 'ave the same right as other Tyran folks?" shouted a protestor.  
"Ve 'ant to be treated as equals too!" announced another in the massive crowd.

"We only have so much space for refugees fleeing the border, supplies are limited! In case you have noticed, we're in the middle of a war!" shouted one of the police officers.

"A var you say? Your army still has not marched to'vards contested Sarfuthian soil! Vhere is your support?" chimed in an elderly woman, taking notice of a treaty signed five years ago.

"We have other important Tyran assets to protect, we can't commit our forces to combating occupation forces at the moment!" defended the Tyran officer.

"How are ve suppost to feed our kindlah?" screamed another outraged protestor.

"Vhat of our jobs, ja? Ve need zah money!"

Before the Tyran officers could scream out another word at the rampaging crowd, a brick was thrown at the nearest officer, striking him directly in the face. The blow was such a violent one, that it knocked him off of a table he stood on and towards the cobble-stone street below.

More of the refugees joined in the fray and assaulted the group of police officers minding the growing crowd. An exchange of fists and night-sticks quickly created an all-out brawl between the officers and protesters.  
Tyran police officers that weren't directly in the middle of the mob quickly drew side arms and fired into the air, attempting to keep the crowd from continuing their stampede. When this only managed to break up a few protesters, the officers took to firing blindly into the crowd, hoping to kill some of the more violent Sarfuthian rioters.

This resulted in women and children in the crowd being slaughtered in the hail of gunfire, cutting down silhouettes in the crowd indiscriminately. The sound of weapons discharge and screaming took to the streets, echoing between the ramshackle buildings the Sarfuthian refugees called home. The cobblestone streets were drenched in the spill of innocent and guilty blood, the likes of which were impossible to distinguish.


	2. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

"A company of the 92nd Mobile Infantry Division is an experimental unit that has been selected to lead the attack on the city of A'ruz in Sarfuth. This is a highly controversial unit of soldiers made up of Sarfuthian refugees who have enlisted in the COG army. These are highly willing volunteers who wish to see their former homeland liberated from the UIR occupation forces. Providing these shock troopers to the front lines will ensure a quick victory over the UIR forces located there. Meanwhile, another detachment of the 92nd will swing west and capture the Indie Imulsion fields. However, it should be noted that this unit of men will be the first soldiers equipped with the new Lancer Assault Rifles; they will commence field testing as soon as the weapons reach the front lines."

(C.O.G. military intelligence report regarding the sensitive nature of arming Sarfuthian volunteers with the newest weapons in the COG arsenal).

**Sarfuthian Refugee Relocation Center; located several miles east of the Oakwood Alienage District (1 week after the rioting incident).**

Alexander had been highly concerned with the news cast reports of Sarfuthian casualties who had died as a result of the policing action in Oakwood. His first thoughts were of his parents, who had been located in a less poverty-stricken section of the Alienage. His thoughts immediately traveled to the worst thoughts possible, finding himself under the constant assumption that both of his parents were killed in the police incursion.

Despite his current mental anguish Alexander weaved back through pockets of open space, attempting to find a path through the other Sarfuthian volunteers who littered the walkway leading away from the train station. He was very eager to get away from all the chaos and learn more about the fate of his small family.

Much to Alexander's surprise, the familiar voice of his father cut through the rambunctious crowd of huddled soldiers.

"Alexander, over here!" shouted Nicolai, "Through zah fence" he gestured.

Alexander reacted quickly to the movement of the crowd and weaved his way over to the fence, slipping through the small checkpoint entrance his father waited beside.

"It's good to see you father." replied Alexander, embracing his father in a tight hug.

"No love for your mother?" interrupted Katia, who opened her arms wide for Alexander, expecting a hug from her long-departed son.

"Of course, mother!"

Alexander then reached out towards his mother and embraced her in a tight hug, patting her back affectionately, as the many times he did during childhood.

"Let's just get home" replied Alexander finally.

**Rally Point Bravo (15 miles from the Sarfuthian border), Two Weeks Later.**

Alexander quietly watched as countless armored vehicles rumbled by, all of them assembling in large formations in the desert sands. The vehicles ranged from Centaur tanks to armored personnel carriers, and even armored-plated humvees. Each of the vehicles was laden with assorted equipment for a rapid assault; repair equipment and power tools were latched onto the sides of the vehicles, just in case they might be needed later. He remained seated on the edge of several piled sandbags, making sure his reinforced location was sturdy enough to support his weight, as he wore a full set of COG armor.

In Alexander's hands was the new weapon rushed into production by the company his father worked for, dubbed as the Lancer Assault Rifle or (LAR-1A). The rifle had a rather ferocious appearance; a standard knife bayonet extended forth from the construction of the firearm. The weapon also sported an elongated barrel, with the intention of delivering lead death at several hundreds of rounds per second. Behind the extended bayonet was a padded grip, for the intention of the user to hold the weapon from. Past the construction of the grip was a rather bulky looking square-shaped magazine, capable of holding sixty rounds of ammunition. Finally was the pistol grip of the weapon, where the trigger would be located next to, which felt rather cool in Alexander's hand due to the steel material used for this part of the rifle.

Alexander's thoughts were soon interrupted by the voice of his lieutenant, who shouted at all the soldiers who sat about, waiting for orders.

"Gears on your feet!" shouted Lieutenant Stratford, "Move it ladies, let's go!" he added.

The Sarfuthian volunteers of A Company in the 92nd Mobile Infantry Division quickly assembled before their commanding officer. Each of the soldiers stood at full attention, weapons clasped at their shoulders, each of which made them stand defiantly against the desert wind.

"We've received orders to attack the city of A'ruz, liberating it from the Indie scum. Today is a lucky day to be a Sarfuthian volunteer, isn't it?" declared the lieutenant.

"Sir, yes sir!" shouted the group of assembled volunteer soldiers.

"Glad to hear you ladies have voice this morning!" shouted the lieutenant above the whipping desert winds.

"Mount up!" Stratford finally yelled, dismissing the Sarfuthian volunteers.

The soldiers quickly scampered to the armored vehicles, mounting them with a high level of skill, as if practiced on a regular basis, each man had a purpose and knew the purpose well. It wasn't long before the entire convoy of armored vehicles rumbled to life and began a spread formation towards the city of A'ruz.

**Five Minutes South of A'ruz, Armored Personnel Carrier, "Desert Raider"**

The receiver within Alexander's helmet squelched to life with the communications between the various armored vehicles and King-Raven helicopter pilots who flew recon above the convoy. He continued to listen to the conversations through the receiver in his helmet, waiting for important instructions.

"This is KR-54; we are in sector five, scanning with thermals. We have visuals on enemy armor."

"Rodger that, KR-54, this is Control, we have your IFF confirmed and on screen" replied command.

"Command, we have confirmed sights on hostile armor, several armed militia supporting. Permission to engage, over?" asked the king-raven pilot's voice.

"Rodger 54, copies all, go ahead" the voice replied.

Alexander's APC rocked back and forth over the desert sand, causing all of the Gears next to him to bash into one another as the vehicle traversed towards A'ruz. The shooting hadn't begun yet, but it would come soon, his gut could tell him that much.

A local radio transmission quickly shot over Alexander's tac-com, allowing him to listen in.

"Forward, this is APC-57; we have several ASP tanks moving into firing position. Opening fire!"

The APC quickly rocked back and forth as the 30 mm automatic cannon rained hell towards the ASP anti-air tank, ripping through the light armor the vehicle had. It didn't take long for the ASP to explode into a fiery fountain of exploded metal and debris.

Various Indie militias rushed over strewn debris from collapsed buildings and shot towards the direction of the convoy. Assorted weapons fire of all types rushed towards the unit, destroying some of the lesser-armored vehicles.

"This is Wolverine-32, we have RPG fire! I repeat, we have RPG fire!" shouted a voice amongst the chaos on the radio.

Alexander's brow dripped with small beads of perspiration beneath his standard-issue helmet, the twinge of fear deep within his core. He didn't know what could happen next, or if he would even survive for that much longer. He closed his eyes and silently prayed inside the confines of his helmet, begging God to spare him from death.

"This is APC-57, we have reached designated drop-zone. Unloading troops" chimed the driver of Alexander's APC.

The back door of the vehicle quickly dropped and allowed the view of A'ruz to fall into place; buildings were blown to pieces and turned to rubble, the ambient sounds of gunfire were all that could be heard from the occasional explosion. The air was thick with smoke, leaking fuel, and the smell of discharged weapons.

Alexander quickly leapt from his seat and ran behind the other men in his squad who bolted out the back of the APC and on to the streets of his home country. The squad quickly formed a defense perimeter and laid down cover-fire for the remaining men inside the vehicle. Once all of the squad members had clambered out of the APC, the ventured forth, rifles drawn and safeties off.

The APC that Alex arrived in continued to rain down 30 mm shells down on Indie positions. It had been hit several times by small arms fire from Indie snipers and heavy machine gunners, but left no serious damage on the vehicle.

Alexander and the rest of his squad reached the door of a nearby house, taking cover on each side of the main door, leading in to the building.

"Breaching!" announced the Sergeant as he placed a charge on the door.

Each of the Gears readied themselves as the charge exploded and sent chunks of the wooden door in several directions, filling the inside of the building with smoke and more debris. The squad quickly rushed into the buildings, peppering the helpless Indie militia with several concentrated bursts of 5.56x45 mm rounds.

Each of the Indie militia quickly dropped to the floor, bloodied wounds in their bodies leaking blood on to the wooden floor of the building.

"Clear!" shouted Alexander, checking the corners of the room, "No hostiles" he added.

The Sergeant of the squad quickly checked the building, making sure each of the men had survived the breach and clear maneuver. None of the men in the squad had been killed and they had managed to take the building by surprise.

"This is Bravo-Seven; we have taken the first house on the left, over."

"Rodger that, Bravo-Seven" replied the nearest squad's leader.

The remaining forces in the convoy assaulted A'ruz in full force, taking the Indie forces by surprise as more reinforcements approached from the south, through the desert storm which had masked the COG attack on the city. It wasn't long before the main outskirts of A'ruz were overrun by COG forces and the remaining Indie forces retreated back further into the city. A first foot-hold was quickly taken by the Coalition for the mean-time, allowing more forces to pour into the area and resupply those currently bogged down.


	3. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

"_Like everything in the COG army, there's an acronym for street fighting: M.O.U.T. Military Operations in Urban Terrain. We just know it means close, personal, and higher casualties. To win M.O.U.T. battles, you need numbers, it is advised that a three to one odds to beat an entrenched urban force. The use of bayonets and hand-to-hand combat techniques are inevitable. It is also advised that troops take extreme caution when clearing one building to the next, in order to root out hostile forces from entrenched positions."_

(COG Infantry Training manual, instructing how to deal with urban combat)

**Besieged City of A'ruz, Sarfuth (four hours after initial operation begins) **

The battle for A'ruz raged on for several hours, forcing the Coalition troops to fight from one building to the next and street by street. The process of reclaiming the city back from Indie pockets of resistance was a very difficult process. Causalities were high on both sides of the battle, making each engagement even more desperate and violent.

The men which made up Bravo-seven had fought a tough battle, which left each of them exhausted from the grueling physical tasks they had to accomplish over the past waning hours. Their training proved to be the most important element in surviving the battle this long; most other squads had suffered heavy causalities at this point in the battle.

Alexander's muscles ached, filled with an unpleasant burning sensation which added to the pain in his weary appendages. While ubiquitous in everyday life, being fatigued on the battlefield could often be a fatal for a soldier and as such, rest would be needed. Alexander was a fine example of a soldier and had a pristine level of physical fitness, but this did not make up for the weight of his armor and equipment which left a heavy toll on his body. The physical elements of fatigue were not the only parts that were currently hindering his combat awareness; it was the level of somnolence which manifested itself within his consciousness.

"Damn my muscles hurt!" shouted Alexander, "It's difficult to even stay awake…" he added.

"Ah, give it a friggin' rest, _kraut_" announced one of the Tyran soldiers in the squad, "We all hurt."

It was then when Alexander remembered that most Tyran citizens were very _particular_ when it came to those they worked with and fought beside. The other soldiers in basic training had not been kind to him, using all sorts of puns and ethnic slurs against him for his Sarfuthian heritage. The experimental unit which he belonged too was marked with a special insignia on the shoulder pauldron of each soldier. The specialized insignia consisted of a black-bordered, shield-shaped patch with a set of silver lightning bolts on each side, with the COG wheel centered behind the main symbol, finally emblazoned on crimson field. Below the insignia were the words, "deeds, not words."

Alexander dismissed the comments of the Tyran sergeant and hauled his Lancer Assault Rifle from the pile of rubble beside him. He wrapped his hands around the pistol grip and forward grip of the weapon, finding comfort in the cold metal construction of his weapon. His thoughts immediately turned to his father, thinking of how he worked for the very company who produced the very rifle he carried to war.

**Sarfuthian Refugee Relocation Center; located several miles east of the former Oakwood Alienage District.**

Nicolai traveled back and forth between work and what was his new home, barely making a high enough wage to pay for the taxes and food for his family. Though it was only his wife and himself at this point, the war had created tough times for the Sarfuthian refugees and this was no exception.

"I vunder if Alexander is doing alright out there" announced Nicolai.

"You mean out there, fighting?" asked Katia.

"Yes…" stammered Nicolai, "I don't vant to see our boy come back in a coffin."

"Our prayers vill protect him, I'm sure of it" replied Katia, attempting to calm the thoughts of her husband.

"He is all ve 'ave left, Katia."

Katia gave a simple nod of her head and returned to the task of washing dishes, a simple task which often allowed her mind to depart from venomous thoughts about the war and her son. The dishes she washed were some of the only items that had been recovered from their home, the rest was taken by vagrants or Tyran contract workers who had demolished their old home back in the Oakwood Alienage District.

The family plates she washed were heirlooms given from one generation to the next, for as long as Katia could remember. She guarded the family treasure with her life when they were forced from their homes, not allowing them to be stolen like much of their other possessions had been during the numerous raids and riots. This was a part of their heritage; a part of what made them Sarfuthian, what it meant to be proud of who they were given the circumstances. It would be something that Katia would be willing to die for if need be.

**Company meeting room, Lancer-Kedar Production Facility, East Tyrus.**

Erin was pleased with the results that the Sarfuthian refugees had been forced from their district, allowing him a large plot of land to build another factory in complete secrecy. Nobody was going to stop him; he had the backing of the Tyran police department, who were given brand new firearms for being under his influence. If that was not enough, he had managed to black-mail several key politicians who had secrets that they didn't want doctored into the newest issue of the Jacinto Times.

His menacing smile only added to his cruel demeanor when it came to dealing with people he considered of lesser stature to himself.

"I assume the newest shipments of LAR-1A's are proving to be useful in combat?" Erin proposed.

"Better than the crap most other companies supplied us with," answered the Blackwatch mercenary.

"I'm glad to hear that" Erin announced, "Consider the budget for weapons spending to be extended to your company."

"We'll be sure to operate behind the prying eyes of the Coalition, making sure half of our stocks fall into the hands of the Gorasnayian military."

"Be sure to sell them for double the price" Erin declared, his grin widening at the thought of marginal profit increases.

The Blackwatch Mercenary gave a wide-toothed grin and saluted Dr. Lancer before taking his leave of the meeting room. The contractor was ultimately satisfied with the results of the meeting and enjoyed the thought of cutting out the middle man in the deal, where the profits from sales and combat would be gained without the suspicion of anybody around him.


	4. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

"Intelligence reports have reason to believe that atrocities are being committed on a daily basis in Sarfuth. Aerial photographs have detected the presence of several mass grave sites where civilians were deliberately rounded up by the UIR forces and slaughtered. Several accusations of gang-rape have been reported by broken Sarfuthian women who were unfortunate enough to be captured by the Indies."  
(Classified COG intelligence report, commenting on the topic of Genocide in Sarfuth).

**Oakwood Alienage District, Tyrus (Several hours after the rioting incident)  
**  
Sarfuthian continued to pour towards the sight of the clash between Tyran Police officers and a group of rioters who became too violet, resulting in the death of well over two-hundred and fifty unarmed people, with dozens more injured.

Among the dead were the village elders who spoke out for the community, giving a much needed voice to the Sarfuthian refugees. The bodies of any Tyran officers that were recovered were stripped of their uniforms and hung from just about any public place imaginable. A group of radical refugees also managed to steal several sets of semi-automatic pistols the police officers carried, planning to keep them for protection.

**(Home of Nicolai Solovyov, Oakwood Alienage District)  
**  
News of the slaughter in the Alienage District was vocalized among those who lived near Nicolai, calling for the blood of any Tyran officer unfortunate enough to venture into the segregated district. Nicolai also considered the possibility that he would be labeled a traitor by his people for being the secretary of Dr. Erin Marshall Lancer, the founder of Lancer-Kedar Heavy Industries.

"I just don't know vhat to do, Katia. I can't help but feel responsible for the deaths."

Nicolai's mind tormented him with the thought of dead innocents, fearing that his family would suffer revenge killings.

Katia muttered and shook her head. "Dearest Nicolai, you can't blame yourself for vhat 'appened."

"It doesn't feel like I should be any less guilty, my hands are stained!"

Each of Nicolai's fists slammed into the kitchen table, causing assorted dinner plates to clatter to the floor.

"Nicolai," Katia said, "you need to calm down, breaking zah dishes von't bring back the dead. vould you like to go lay down?"

"You didn't see those streets, they ran red with blood," Nicolai replied. "Once you've seen something, it cannot be unseen."

Katia sighed wearily and shook her head, moving towards her husband to give his shoulders and affectionate squeeze.

"You should be used to the blood-shed by now… do you remember A'ruz?" Katia added.

"Of course I do, just like it was yesterday. Both sides of our family vere slaughtered vhen ve crossed zah border."

Nicolai moved his right upwards, gingerly squeezing the hand of his wife to show he still had some shred of humanity left.

"I just thought things vould be different here in Tyrus zhan back home," Nicolai said.

"At least Alexander will be home soon, from basic training," Katia replied.

"At least we have that much."

**Classified Lancer-Kedar Production Facility, East Tyrus (1 Day After the Oakwood Alienage Incident)  
**  
Erin was always to be considered an industrious individual who always managed to keep himself preoccupied with matters of his own importance, this is why the man never sired a family or married, he was dedicated to his business affairs.

Catching up on events in the Jacinto Times was always a good pass time for him flat hours when work was not to be observed from the workers below the view of his office. Another habit that seemed to accompany his love for reading the newspaper was his addiction to smoking expensive brands of cigars, imported from nations conquered long ago by the Indies.

It was not long that Erin's silence would be disturbed by a knock at the door.  
"Do come in," said Erin.

As the door of the office opened, it was revealed to be Nicolai Solovyov, the secretary who usually offered Erin reports from the factory.

"Good morning to you, Dr. Lancer," replied Nicolai.

"What is it, Solovyov? Get straight to the point," said Erin.

"Vell sir, ve 'ave a problem in one of the mines, it vould appear that the vorkers 'ave not checked in to vork for several shifts. Their familes have not reported seeing them either."

A perplexed look soon washed over the countenance of the older man.

"What do you mean they haven't reported for work? Where the hell are they?" replied Erin venomously.

"No bodies 'ave been recovered from zah site and most of their mining equipment vas still left operating. It's like they vere taken."


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

"_That was the worst night I could remember, it was like being in hell. Some men screamed for the corpsmen, while others screamed out for their mothers. We didn't even have time to react; we just did what came naturally to a soldier."_

(Alexander Solovyov on surviving a massive UIR counter attack)

**A'ruz, Sarfuth (2300 – 9 Hours after invasion begins)**

The pitch dark Seran sky would normally prove to be formidable opponent to the unassisted human eye, often making colors seem as what they are not. Discriminating human targets apart from destroyed rubble was also a difficult task in the lighting that was caused by the hostile Seran nights. This visual effect was nullified by the helmets most soldiers wore into combat; each standard issue helmet having built-in night vision systems integrated into the helmets of each Coalition soldier.

Alexander considered himself lucky at this point in the operation. Several members of his squad had been killed during brutal urban combat. Taking the city of A'ruz became a particularly daunting task; reclaiming each building was a very difficult undertaking that resulted in heavy casualties for Coalition forces. It had been rumored that the Indie causalities were estimated somewhere in the hundreds, many of which had been buried in the ruble of collapsing buildings as Coalition armored vehicles rumbled up the streets, systematically bombarding the buildings UIR troops decided to occupy.

Dehydration was a soldier's worst human condition on the battlefield. It has been several hours since Alexander and the squad he accompanied had been properly supplied since the start of the invasion. Ammunition and supplies ran dangerously thin and it would make a proper defense of the city almost impossible if the UIR forces decided to make a counter-attack during the night.

"I'm down to my last magazine," whispered Alexander.

"I don't have many left myself" returned the Tyran sergeant.

"I'll keep watch for hostiles," Alexander replied.

Alexander carefully peeked over the mound of muck and debris which made up most of his fox hole to get a better understanding of the way the front lines intricately meshed together. Most of the men in his unit were spread out through a series of trenches and fox holes, blocking off the majority of the main street the Coalition forces controlled. The darkness of the night sky was penetrated by burning hulks of UIR tanks as they crackled and burned in the distance, sending huge plumes of smoke into the night sky. Occasionally unexploded ordinances within the vehicles would violently explode while the disabled vehicles continued to blaze onwards into the waning hours of the night.

The silence of the night was broken by the distant pops of artillery shells, which quickly gained Alexander's attention; immediately he remembered his training and ducked down against the solid earth which protected most of his body.

"Incoming!" screamed Alexander.

An unrelenting volley of artillery rained down through the Coalition lines, ripping apart various ground-works many soldiers occupied, many of which were in such desperate need for supplies and additional men to fill them. Voices screamed into the night air and were quickly silenced as soon as they began. Other voices screamed for help or called for medics to rush to their aid. Men caught in the open continued to scramble for cover, ducking behind anything they could find on the front lines. Vehicles positioned uncomfortably close to the fire-zone also suffered from the highly concentrated barrage of artillery; several APC's were blown apart in each powerful concussive blast.

For several minutes the bombardment continued without end, shell after shell rained down on the front line. Once the carnage had temporarily ceased, Alexander carefully peered above the rim of his foxhole, brushing aside the pile of dirt which had covered most of his body and the assault rifle he clutched so tightly in his right hand.

"Headcount!" shouted the Tyran sergeant.

Only a hand full of men who formed the front lines around him managed to call out after the heavy bombardment of the front line.

"Private Solovyov reporting!" Alexander finally shouted.

Before the Coalition forces could recover, an enormous wave of UIR soldiers rushed down the main street and weaved through the demolished buildings that made up the majority of the front lines. The rushing attackers screamed as they ran through the lines, pumping loads of inaccurate weapons fire into the defending forces they attempted to overwhelm.

Alexander quickly shouldered his Lancer and squeezed the trigger, picking off several Indie soldiers in the process. He watched as each man tumbled to the ground dead.

He continued to fire his weapon, covering the men beside his position as they reloaded, quickly dispatching several more UIR soldiers before expending the last of the ammunition in his magazine.

"Last magazine!" Alexander shouted through the chaos.

The Tyran sergeant next to him quickly tossed another magazine for his Lancer, before turning his attention back to the line. Before he could even shoulder the weapon again, the Tyran soldier caught a bullet in the head, killing him instantly.

Alexander watched in horror as the man collapsed to the ground, killed by a stray bullet from the advancing UIR soldiers. Determined not to have the same fate, he quickly retrieved the magazine from the bottom of the foxhole, loading his rifle as quickly as each of his hands would allow for. Adrenaline and fear boiled in Alexander's veins as he continued to stream bullets into the horde of attackers, killing some of them while others took cover behind ruins of the city.

The few men left near Alexander covered the flanks he couldn't as he returned fire; some of the men were picked off as they defended him. He quickly ducked behind the dirt mound that made up his foxhole, when receiving incoming fire. In the exchange, he managed to down several more Indie attackers, killing them with bursts of his assault rifle.

One moment Alexander was ducking behind his foxhole to fire from cover, pinning down the advancing infantry—the next, he felt a vice around his neck and shoulder, and a huge UIR soldier is hauling him away from cover, dragging him across jagged pieces of concrete and broken glass. Resisting the foreign attacker is almost impossible; the grip of the man is much stronger than what Alexander can defend against, nearly crushing his windpipe in the struggle.

Alexander's vision begins to blur from asphyxiation, voices and gun fire fill the night air as a vain attempt is made to reach for his combat knife. The tips of his fingers slide across the top of the handle but lack the proper amount of strength to retrieve the blade from the sheath. Alexander's attacker continues his strangle-hold, hell-bent on choking the Sarfuthian soldier to death with his bare hands. When all hope seems lost, with death creeping forward with each passing second, Alexander feels something wet splatter across the back of his neck. The grip around his neck and shoulders slowly loosened and he felt the man slide off of him, exhaustion quickly insured Alexander's loss of consciousness and he plummeted towards the earth he so valiantly defended.

**A'ruz, Sarfuth (0700, Invasion + 1)**

A familiar voice cut through the air as Alexander slowly came back to a conscious state of mind. The voice was harsh and unmistakable; the man yelling was none other than Lieutenant Stratford, the man who was in charge of the 92nd Mobile Infantry Division at this point of the battle.

"Maintain constant vigilance!" shouted the Lieutenant, "I want a secure perimeter!" he added.

Alexander pulled himself up and checked his surroundings, only to find himself in the back of a retrofitted troop-carrying vehicle. It rumbled down the road, spewing smoke into the air and crunching over anything unfortunate enough to be in its path of travel. He then found himself surrounded by several other Gears who studied with shifty glances and pondered upon how a Sarfuthian recruit managed to hold back an entire UIR assault.

"You got lucky!" shouted one of the Gears above the rumbling of the vehicle.

"What do you mean?" Alexander slowly replied, groaning as he moved himself to climb onto one of the seats, beside the other Gears.

"Your entire company was wiped out in the attack, yet you managed to survive when everybody else died."

It took a minute for Alexander to realize the weight of the words which were spoken, knowing that the very men he trained with were killed during the night, none of which survived regardless of how hard he tried to prevent their deaths.

"Thirsty?" The Gear asked.

"Yeah."

Alexander reached across the cabin of the vehicle and accepted the canteen the other soldier offered, quickly taking several gulps of the cold water.

It was small things like this that made a soldier appreciate ubiquitous commodities of civilian life, like running water and hot food.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

"_**The fighting began in the afternoon. […]One Indie after another would display the white flag or surrender [...] the group of Indies in **__**Hač**__** were last to surrender. [...] Any Indies caught by civilians were targeted and publicly ridiculed. If any were unfortunate to fall into our hands, we would tear them apart; even Tyran soldiers agreed that taking murderers and rapists as prisoners was a bad idea, resulting in the shooting of hundreds of unarmed prisoners. The following afternoon UIR-officers are executed. At night any of the remaining Indies suffered the same fate."**_ _**(Alexander Solovyov during a debrief of events in **__**Hač,**__**Sarfuth)**_

**T-minus 10 minutes from the outskirts of Hač (Invasion + 5)**

It had taken Coalition forces nearly three days to recover from the Indie counter attack that had nearly decimated the entire 92nd Mobile Infantry Division. Most of the ground-based vehicles had been destroyed during the battle, leaving very few in operating condition. Command quickly concluded that the 92nd be flown to Hač via King Raven helicopters and initiate a 'sweep and clear' mission of the capital. The objective was to reclaim the town hall which had been fortified by high ranking UIR commanders who had command of the local garrison.

Alexander decided that wearing his helmet made things difficult. He had taken the advice of veteran soldiers who had discarded their helmets early on during the war, trading them to new recruits for fresh rations or new field boots and in some cases, even cigarettes.

In doing so he decided that a standard issue field cap would be much more comfortable than the standard issue helmet worn by most Coalition soldiers.

From his seat he had a perfect view of the cockpit; the main console was covered in a vast collection of buttons, gauges, and other instruments for piloting the complex vehicle. It made Alexander glad that he would not be responsible for flying such a craft.

The familiar noise of the rotors became monotonous at this point of the flight. The Capital of Hač bordered on the horizon, the objective clear as day. Much of the city remained completely intact even though it had been bombed repeatedly by the Coalition Air Force. The town hall had been transformed into a citadel, much of the enormous building appeared to be covered in gun emplacements of every sort. As such, the King Raven Helicopters were going to touch down on the outskirts of the city, a much safer place to have a landing zone.

"Ten seconds!" shouted Lieutenant Stratford over the sound of the chopper.

Every single man in the Raven quickly gave their assault riggings and weapons a final check before reaching the landing zone, as to make sure everything was in proper working order.

Over a dozen King Raven choppers hovered above a location that was previously chosen by Commander as a landing zone; it was surrounded by tall palm trees and junked vehicles, left over from mass evacuations by Sarfuthian citizens.

"Attach harnesses!" bellowed the Lieutenant.

"Secured!" the first Gear announced.

Alexander quickly attached his harness to the rigging line which hung from the ceiling of the King Raven. Several men were in front of him, all of which quick-repelled down the line that was suspended from the chopper.

When it was finally his turn, he grasped the rope between each of his gloved hands and placed the rope between his legs. Leaping from the helicopter, Alexander quickly repelled down the line, helping to secure perimeter on the ground below. The last of the men finally positioned themselves at his side and the Lieutenant took the lead of the squad.

"Ramirez, on point!" announced Stratford.

"Right, boss man," replied the scout in the group.

"Three meter spread, keep constant visuals with other squads," whispered Stratford.

Alexander knew that Stratford was a man of action, one who had fought the Indies on several occasions but came out battle without so much as a scrape or bruise. The man seemed almost mystical in his eyes, almost like a supreme being forged into an elite soldier.

"This place creeps sir," Ramirez declared, picking up a spent cartridge from an Indie shotgun.

Stratford gestured for Alexander and another man in the squad to cover the flanks as Ramirez advanced about a meter ahead of the group.

His hand moved the communication piece on his left ear, pressing down on the small button to send a signal.

"Command, this is alpha-one, LZ is secured, we are waiting for new orders, over." Stratford announced over the comm.

"Alpha-one, this is command. Precede to objective Taurus, located in grid B6-K8, centered North-West, two clicks ahead" the voice replied.

"Command, solid copy on all. Proceeding to objective Taurus," Stratford confirmed.

The squad approached forward, clambering through the thick bush of the terrain. The other squads dropped from the King Ravens split off in ten meter spreads, advancing the line forward.

Ramirez quickly raised his right hand in the air to signal a halt for the rest of the squad. The men quickly responded by taking cover, attempting to conceal themselves in the low lying brush which covered the field. Ramirez stopped several feet from the mouth of a freshly dug trench.

"Sir, you better come take a look at this" muttered Ramirez.

Stratford carefully weaved his way through the rest of the squad and positioned himself next to Ramirez, taking a quick peek into the trench below.

The smell is what caught him first; it was a familiar smell, which made the hair on the inside of his nose curl. The smell of putrid, rotting flesh caked in mud was not something that is forgotten to a soldier, especially one who had fought the Indies in trench warfare. The bottom of the trench was covered in hundreds of dead bodies; some were women, others were children, even the occasional man could be found in the heap. It quickly became clear that the Indies had slaughtered these civilians in cold blood, leaving their bodies to rot in the harsh Seran sun.

"Ah, f*ck" growled Stratford through gritted teeth.

It took the veteran a couple of seconds to compose himself, before addressing other squads in the vicinity.

"All squads please advice, large group of dead civilians several meters ahead" he announced, through the tac-com.

The squad slowly made their way around the trench filled with the dead, making sure to remain a far distance back to avoid the foul smell the decomposed bodies caused. The city limits of the town were in sight, it would only be a matter of time before hostiles would be found and eliminated.

The approach in the town appeared to be deserted. It was apparent that the Indies left in a big hurry; some even left their combat boots and rations behind as they fled. A campfire even had a pot of freshly brewed coffee warmed up and ready to serve, though the makers of the brew were nowhere to be seen.

"Where the f*ck are they, Lieutenant?" Alexander inquired.

"Probably setting up an ambush," Stratford replied.

The Lieutenant gestured several of his men to take each street, making sure the squad was spread out enough to start securing buildings. They learned from A'ruz that the Indies favored fighting from house to house, room to room. He had to give them that much, they were determined bastards.

As they continued through the city, no hostiles were present. The occasional straggler would be reported from another squad but would quickly surrender without any form of resistance. It seemed that the Indies had lost the will to fight since A'ruz, often surrendering as quickly as Coalition forces could advance.

"Hostile!" Alexander shouted, taking aim at an Indie who bolted across the street.

He did not hesitate and quickly pulled the trigger, firing several bursts towards the fleeing combatant.

He watched the man fall to the ground and quickly bolted towards the downed soldier. The man wasn't dead yet and he made a pathetic attempt to escape, crawling away as blood trailed from the numerous wounds on his body.

Alexander lifted his rifle high above his head, moving the bayonet on the end of the gun towards the wounded man. He stabbed him several times, in quick successions, killing him with the first blow. He did not stop but only continued, stabbing the man several more times.

Stratford and the rest of the squad regrouped to where the shots were fired, attempting to discover what had transpired.

"Private! That's enough!" shouted Stratford.

He holstered his weapon and darted towards the rookie of the squad, grabbing him by the arm.

"He's dead! He's f*cking dead!" shouted the Lieutenant.

Tears streamed down Alexander cheeks as he tossed his rifle away, allowing it to clatter to the cobblestone street near his feet.

"The bastards killed my family!" he shouted angrily.

"Do you want to kill him twice? He's dead!" replied Stratford.

"I'll kill them… I'll kill every last one of them" Alexander hissed.

Alexander retrieved his rifle from the street and clutched the weapon in his hands, squeezing the grip to quell his anger. He had a score to settle and wouldn't rest until every last Indie responsible for the mass grave were killed to the last man.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

"_The Union of Independent Republics spreads democracy and peace through every land it liberates. However it has become an excepted fact that classes of biological distinction indisputably sanction social and political discrimination. It can also no longer be denied that not every country that is liberated is willing to except the ideologies that the Union represents and as such, they must be exterminated in order to maintain a proper cohesion into the Union."  
(High-Marshal General, Mikoslav Lokar, acting commander of UIR forces in Hač)_

**Hač, Sarfuth (Residential District)**

During the sporadic fighting Alexander learned the names and strengths of each man in the squad. Ramirez was the scout and counter-sniper, with an advanced level of knowledge when it came to survival in the field. O'Neal was the explosives expert in the group, favoring large amounts of light-weight, high-yield explosives in order to cripple any fortified position or building with little effort. Last but not least was an Irohma Islander named Kailua, the most soft-spoken man in the squad, tasked with utilizing heavy-weapons. Alexander felt a connection to these men more than any he had served with, from basic training to current operations; though he was of foreign blood, each man accepted him as an equal rather than an outsider.

Alexander came to realize that a fortified sniper posed a serious threat to an advancing group of soldiers, no matter how well armed. In the hands of an expert marksman, a rifle can be used to devastating effect.

"The bastard is dug in real deep," Ramirez murmured whilst calibrating the scope on his Longshot sniper rifle.

"That Indie is a damn good shot," O'Neal interrupted. "He's not your typical Indie—he's smart."  
"What's the plan, Lieutenant?" Rodriguez asked.  
"He's got too much of a vantage point, he's also covered by several machine gun nests—I say we smoke his ass."  
"Agreed," Alexander hissed.

Stratford transitioned his right hand upwards, placing two of his digits against his ear-bud.

"Command, this is alpha-one, requesting air support, over?"  
"This is command, request for air support granted. What are strike coordinates?"

"Target will be painted with laser designator, prepping for bomb drop" Stratford confirmed.

The roaring jet engines of a Coalition fighter-bomber could be heard from quite a distance off, due to the high speed approaches most pilots tend to take for bomb disposal.

"Alpha-one, this is Dark Star. ETA 20 seconds to target. Watch your heads, Gentlemen!"

The multilevel apartment complex violently exploded, after the Coalition fight-bomber delivered the vicious payload. The building was completely eradicated in mere seconds, throwing chunks of concrete and steel piping hundreds of feet into the air. The debris rained down onto the streets, smashing out windows unfortunate enough to be caught in the blast radius.

"This is Dark Star, payload delivered. Target destroyed, over?" the pilot cut in.

Ramirez scanned the remains of the building, making sure no resistance remained.

"Confirmed, target is destroyed" Stratford replied.

Stratford quickly took command and gestured for the squad to advance forward through the rubble of the city.

"How far have we got to objective Taurus?" O'Neal asked. "I mean, how close are we?"

For a moment, Stratford's eye caught the level of destruction caused by the bombing, speckled rubble had been hammered down by the explosion, pieces of carved marble fragments that had run the length of the building were also amongst the debris which caught his attention.

"Twenty or thirty minutes, tops. We'll need to do some recon when we get closer."  
"From there, we'll secure the government district and advance on the objective."  
"What do you think we can expect?" Kailua grunted.  
"They know we won't be there for milk and cookies," Stratford replied.  
"Milk and cookies, my ass," Ramirez said. "I'll definitely give them something they won't forget!"  
"Let's just waste these bastards," Alexander added.

**Hač, Sarfuth (Government district)**

Stratford peered through his binoculars, trying to get a better view on the capital building. It had been fortified with multiple anti-aircraft batteries and several anti-armor emplacements. To make matters worse, the building flew the flag of the Gorasnayian military; a platoon highly trained group of soldiers would occupy this section of the city, with the addition of valuable command staff of equal skill and value.

"We need to wait for support; infantry alone won't finish the job here," Stratford concluded.  
"Do you think we should wait for armor to roll?" Ramirez asked.  
"We'll need armor support for sure," O'Neal added.

The lieutenant signaled for each man in the squad to take a position, giving each of them a clear vantage point from which to fire.

"Everyone is in position, status is green" Ramirez chimed.

Stratford took cover behind the remains of an oak dresser before tapping his communication bud.

"Command, this is alpha-one, do you read?"  
"Roger that, alpha-one, what is the situation?"  
"Objective Taurus is heavily fortified—requesting friendly armor on location."  
"Affirmative, an armored unit is en route to your position at this time alpha-one."  
"Roger that command, solid copy, over and out."

Alexander found that waiting for the battle to come was the hardest part, especially when emotions overpowered better judgment. His very core shook with rage when he thought about wanting to shoot at the Gorasnayian troops who massacred his people but his training prevented him from reaching for the trigger, however difficult it may be.

The silence was broken by a voice over the loudspeaker, which spoken in broken Tyran, the accent apparently very thick.

"Coalition soldiers, lay down your arms. You will not survive this battle; the mighty military forces of Gorasnayian will overwhelm you."

"Who the hell is this asshole?" Ramirez inquired.  
"That would be Mikoslav Lokar—the highest level general in the Gorasnayian army" Stratford replied.


End file.
